


Jocular

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [232]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Day, just a smidge of crackly johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jocular: adjective: ˈjä-kyə-lər: Given to, characterized by, intended for, or suited to joking or jesting; waggish; facetious</p>
<p>early 17th century: from Latin jocularis, from joculus, diminutive of jocus</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jocular

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiveainley_ohmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/gifts).



> for my lovely friend, who loves when John carries his detective over the threshold.

Sherlock, even on his best day, could never be described as jocular. He never quite got the point of a humourous story, especially, the long, epic type that John was famous for; he was immune to the light puns that he worked into his blog titles.

"What do you need a title for?" He had famously asked once - he was patently ignored.

So, naturally, when Sherlock would turn his smile upon his blogger, his friend, longtime patcher -upper of scrapes, contusions and whatnots, and for the last six months, his lover - John felt his heart-rate skyrocket, his skin flush and the ability to language of any sort would vanish. That honest, heartfelt grin that lit up those indescribable eyes, was possibly the secret weapon that could end all wars, and yet it belonged to John. It was for his eyes only, and yes, Sherlock understood its power to take John to his knees, literally, figuratively and any other way Sherlock could ever possibly desire him.

At the moment, it had him standing, somehow, he wasn't sure how, luckily he didn't need to tell his legs how to hold him up, in front of a minister, in a subtly decorated church. Sherlock was C of E, (who knew), Lestrade had stood up for them both, Molly in bright yellow, stood as a witness and Mrs. Hudson, (ah, Hudders...) watching from the front pew, along with a few hundred (25 at most) of Sherlock's Homeless Network, who were there because, well, they honestly adored the guy and John, well, who couldn't love him, plus, who said no to free food and a couple of beers? There were a couple of John's mates from his Afghanistan days, who were glad to see their buddy land on his feet, Sherlock wasn't bad they had decided, they'd never seen John happier, so what the heck. 

He was still lost in that devastating smile when asked if he did, did what? Hmmm...oh right, "Yeah, uh-huh, you betchya, yes, yes, I do." Sherlock actually snorted, and John was sure he was about to pass out, except they were done, and his best friend, curer of limps and twitches, preventer of nightmares and damn if he wasn't gorgeous in this candlelight and angle, caught him in his lanky, but powerfully strong arms and pulled him into a soft, deep, kiss that could last for three days if one could actually stand for that long. John managed to recover some required manners to survive the overlong reception, they only stayed for an hour and a half, but John really wanted them both out of the damned bespoke groomwear that he never quite got around to asking how exactly Sherlock knew his precise measurements so precisely, and into bed. 

Finally, he carried his mate, in every sense of the word, over the threshold, into their bedroom, onto their bed and neatly, efficiently and thoroughly undressed him. In fact, when Sherlock once again flashed that smile into John's eyes, he was only halfway unclothed himself.

"Damn, love, I've - "

"Need a bit of assistance?"

John nodded and bit his lip as Sherlock laid him down and divested, yes, that was word he was looking for, divested him of his beautiful, snuggly-fitting trousers with way too many fastenings and his deep red (yes, red, deep dark red) silk, (yes, silk)pants and finally, finally stretched out, and hovered above him for a moment, before laying his beautiful, slender, but not too slender, (John had been feeding him up, much to Angelo's delight, after all) body against his own.

"John - oh..."

"Yes?" John managed to breathe out.

And then Sherlock laughed. A beautiful, deep, joyful sound and John was done. He couldn't even. His body and heart and soul reacted instinctively, his brain was of no use, words no longer held any coherent meaning. John demonstrated how he had long ago earned the title of 'Three-Continents Watson' with his highly detailed, majestic and breathtaking dismantling of one Sherlock Holmes. Who swore, once he rebooted all necessary systems, that he would never laugh outside of the privacy of their bedroom, then he promptly kissed his new husband sweetly and fell asleep for the next twelve hours.


End file.
